New Poetry by Ashley Capes

pre-collapse confession

you’re right I’m talking too fast

a bouncy-ball
red

for her lipstick

and clouds covering the bay
in ultrasound green

once a fortnight

I make this gesture to the future

but somehow still end up
treating it

too much like a safety lap

the possibility of gentle envy
turns up in tea leaves

joyriding the pipes
beneath our kitchen sink

so rich with old wives truths

the hopelessness of manhood

a glass of water and two pills
safe

an actual album of photos

last September the best
of
our lives

ten years coming up
unmarked

- Ashley Capes 2012

weatherboarding

the first night is Chinese take-away in a dining room that we never eat in again. the fire is unlit, its patience for winter is unbelievable. I unpack boxes of CDs and place them in a contradictory mix of genres, decades and even dates of purchase, though my obsession doesn’t match John Cusack’s in High Fidelity. you work on the kitchen and cannot believe how stupid the cupboards are, where the hell does the fridge go? in the half-gap we place a brand new clothes dryer, a white-goods knight for the eternal damp of the valley.

tre e trenta
an unfamiliar hum
crosses the room

when the streetlights blink out the last night is pulled down over my shoulders. I have cleaned the floors and walls, the trollish oven, the windows muttering and cannot find the strength to celebrate. the radio (later sold at a garage sale) keeps good company, as the BBC sends Noam Chomsky across heavy waves, until it is finally switched off.

no ceiling fan
overnight sweat
sets on my skin

- Ashley Capes 2012